Lessons
by Deceptive Angel
Summary: There is always a lesson to be learned - even coming from the darkness of a child.


**Disclaimer: Anyone not from the movies/short story, I own. Everything else belongs to other people, especially Stephen King.**

**Instruction**

As per usual, the lecture hall began to fill five minutes after the start of class, with students choking down the last few bites of their dinner. Backpacks dropped with _thuds_, papers rustled, pens were checked for flowing ink, and highlighted, note-scribbled books were opened to various sections. As the students attempted to organize themselves, the professor began to write on the blackboard - the night's topic, Nebraska case study overview, case study film clips, and end of class discussion.

And as usual, as soon as the professor placed the piece of chalk down, the chaotic noise lowered to an audible hum. "Good evening class."

"Good evening, Profession Telson," responded the class, as perfectly instructed to do.

Professor Telson smiled, eyeing the class and making mental notes on who was there and who was not. After 22 years of teaching, he had gotten to understand and anticipate which students would only show for examinations and paper turn-ins versus those students who took an actual interest in the course, _Magic, Witchcraft and Religion_.

This time, he was surprised by the number of students. According to the roster, he should have only had 45 students, barely enough to fill up half of the lecture hall. But tonight, he noticed that only a few seats remained open.

"How many of you are here because you _registered _for the class?"

About 35 hands shot into the air.

"And how many of you are here only because you're interested in tonight's topic?"

About 80 hands shot into the air.

Chuckling, Professor Telson walked over to his desk and stared down at the notes he had prepared. "I assume that many of you here are fascinated by tonight's topic because of the headlines and sensationalism it attracted, damning the religious community as nothing more than legal brain-washing societies and providing useful scapegoats to criminals; otherwise known as, 'the Devil made me do it' defense." A low, nervous chuckle swept through the room. "So, for tonight's topic we begin the section of extreme religion, cult practices, the personality of cult leaders, and dissecting the event known as 'The Gatlin Massacre'".

A murmur of agreement came from the audience.

"Normally, this class does not warrant so many pupils. Those taking this course come from two fractions. One being that it is a required course. The other being simply just a fascination with the unknown, the weird, and the unexplained."

A round of nervous laughter answered his curious, unasked question. "Next time, I recommend you audit the class and make me feel better as a professor, by filling up the seats."

Glancing to the right side of the room, Professor Telson curtly nodded at his upperclassmen TA. "Mr. Harris, please lower the lights - I think we will begin, instead of lecture, with news clips of the case."

* * *

Michael Harris had known that tonight's class would be especially popular. Everyone wanted to know what had happened to the isolated town of Gatlin, Nebraska. Sure, the news reports stated that the children of the small town had gone and clinically murdered their parents under the orders of a fanatical leader, but the idea that the leader of such a brutal event was a child just on the cusp of being a teenager, astounded the public. And the professionals in the field of children - be them psychologists, sociologists, social workers, mental health specialists, etc. - flocked from every major organization, university and private practice, to pick of the brains of the surviving children.

Religious debates on cable news networks raged on for weeks - atheists groups pointed that religion and the idea of God, were to blame. Religious leaders countered that it was not God to blame, but worldly isolation and the corruption religion could become if held in the wrong hands. Experts on cult and cult followings were interviewed, able to give some sort of background into how a single child was able to create a terrifying society.

"Cultus. Latin, meaning adoration or care. The care of a society and the adoration a society can bring to those in power. And from cultus we get cult. And leaders from a cult oversee their charges and their charges give them power - power over their lives. From the way their followers eat, to dress, types of talking, when they sleep and when they wake, what their roles in the society are, who has children, who takes care of children, to how and when they die. Power is a seductive drug and complete domination of others is an addiction."

"How can a child, thirteen/fourteen years old develop this type of mind set?"

The expert, Dr. Markus Brigham, sat back in the chair and stared thoughtfully into space for a moment. It was a good _question_, though a question that had been asked numerous times; and yet, he always felt that in this case, there was no definitive answer. "The boy, Isaac. What do we know of his background? Who were his parents? What was his upbringing? Was he abused, neglected or was he taught, programmed to behave a certain way? From what I have seen, his past remains a mystery. The surviving children described him as the boy who happened to walk out of the cornfield, preaching of the truth path to 'enlightenment'".

"So, the boy is a complete mystery?"

Dr. Brigham folded his hands and leaned forward. "Yes. He is."

"Have you or any other professionals been able to interview the boy?"

"Not I personally. But a few of my colleagues have had the opportunity to observe him in controlled settings. However, from what I have been told, the boy continues to be....challenging."

The interview, noticeably, perked up at the key word. "Challenging? Challenging how?"

"Challenging the way any child would be - ranting."

"About what?"

"_His_ god. The one he calls, He Who Walks Behind the Rows." Digging through his pockets, Dr Brigham produced a small, silver Olympus Microcassette recorder and placed it on the table. "Here. My colleague, Dr. Pearlman, sent me this recording of the boy being asked a number of questions, pertaining mostly to whom this deity was and why this deity asked that he and the children murdered their parents. His responses were quite - eye opening."

* * *

Static crackled and popped as the tape recorder came to life, and after a few seconds, an almost-motherly voice, began to speak.

_You asked that the children murder their parents. Why?_

A male voice, young and with tense authority, answered. _They were not murdered. They were sacrificed. To serve a greater good._

_And this greater good would be?_

_A good, you, an adult, a defiler, could never understand or accept. Your place is gone and yet you remain - useless. Your kind sins without remorse - adultery, greed, pride, envy - your appetites are unending and true satisfaction is never reached. Just as a sick or elderly animal is culled from the herd, so shall you be._

_I am an illness? Because I am an adult?_

Laughter, unnatural laughter, filled the room.

_Why am I to be culled, Isaac?_

_Because your sins are too great to warrant His mercy, Adrienne Gibbs. Thou shalt not kill - even when it is growing inside you._

* * *

The tape recorder stopped. "There is no plausible way for this boy to know that Dr. Gibbs terminated an unwanted pregnancy when she was younger; but the tone of authority was there and according to the letter Dr. Pearlman sent, the boy's eyes actually _smoldered_ with rage. The knowledge of this act angered him so much that Dr. Gibbs had to leave immediately and ultimately, excuse herself from the facility."

"That's intense". The interviewer sat back, forcible relaxing his body.

"Quite," responded Dr. Brigham, pocketing the tape recorder.

* * *

From there, the first clip ended and in the darkened room, Michael could tell that the students' attention was held. The voice on the recorder grabbed everyone, himself included, though he had seen the tape on numerous occasions. There was a pull and a soft, lingering need to hear more of what this child had to say_._


End file.
